"What… what? A dojo challenge?"
"Are they filming a movie or something…?"
"Could it be the mob?"
The trainees quickly backed away, helping the deputy instructor to his feet as the head coach of the Akiyama Dojo hurried over.
"Who are you? Keep this up and we'll call the police!"
Li Pan grinned, removed his formal jacket, folded it neatly, and set it in a locker, placing the Black Kite beside it.
"I told you already—I'm here to challenge your dojo. The kendo instructor's not around? Fine, let's see what your judo teachers can do. Your brochure says it right there—Akiyama Dojo teaches ancient martial arts, accepts real-sword duels, and fights to the death at your own risk."
It was true. Even though they ran all kinds of tutoring classes on the side, Akiyama was still, at its core, a martial arts school. Opening a dojo inevitably meant facing public challenges. If they called the cops every time something happened, their reputation would be ruined. And these days, the NCPA wasn't much help anyway…
Anyone hired as head coach here was no amateur—judging by his build, he was at least in the 95-kilogram weight class, a professional judo competitor, and easily peak-level tier three.
And professionals acted professionally. He cautiously sized up Li Pan first, confirming he wasn't some tattooed gangster, didn't seem to have any exaggerated cybernetic enhancements, just a ballistic processor on his arm—and no sign he planned on drawing a gun. Physically, Li Pan was tall and lean but not bulky, so the coach felt his own weight gave him a clear advantage. He nodded.
"You want a challenge? Fine. But by the rules—outside, and take off your shoes."
Li Pan's grin widened.
"What, you deaf? Take off my shoes? Take off your damn shoes, you little Jap punk! Hah—ptui!"
He spat on the floor and ground it under his heel.
The coach's face darkened.
"Bakayarō!"
He lunged like a bear, leading with a right-hand grip stance, his left foot stepping in hard, aiming to use his mass to break Li Pan's stance. His palms shot forward—one hand grabbing Li Pan's left lapel, the other reaching for his right sleeve—ready to execute harai goshi, tossing Li Pan flat and maybe even wiping that spit off the floor with his face.
But while the coach was a trained judo master, Li Pan had never studied formal grappling. Recently, he'd mastered the Nine Yin Body Refinement, and he knew the coach couldn't tell he had tier-four physical stats. He'd come here deliberately to push people around.
Li Pan's fighting came from military school and the streets—where flashy grappling moves got you killed. On the street, once you went to the ground, a dozen people could be on you before you even got up. His only rule: don't get taken down.
So the moment the coach's right hand grabbed his lapel, Li Pan twisted and clamped down, locking the wrist and arm. There was a sharp crack—he'd dislocated the man's ulna.
"Ahhh!"
The coach screamed. His earlier misjudgment of Li Pan's size left him shocked—his push hadn't budged Li Pan an inch. Against the raw strength from Nine Yin Body Refinement, he couldn't even follow up with his next move. Li Pan's grip clamped onto his radius like an iron vice. With a jerk and an upward elbow lock, he applied a textbook joint lock.
Another sickening crack.
The coach's right arm folded at an unnatural right angle.
Before he could cry for mercy, Li Pan yanked him forward, lifted him like a ragdoll, and drove a knee into his carotid artery. The man went limp instantly, collapsing to the floor without a sound.
The onlookers gasped—nobody had imagined the dojo's head coach could be dropped in a single move.
Even Li Pan was a bit surprised—he'd nearly broken the man's neck. If he hadn't pulled back, the follow-up hand strike could have taken his head clean off.
He still wasn't used to his tier-four body. Before, he'd have to hit a sturdy opponent fifteen or twenty times to knock them down. That was why he'd developed a habit: disable limbs first—break joints so even if you couldn't knock them out, they were no longer a threat.
Now, with his boosted strength, a single knee strike could end the fight—and in this case, had shattered bone, sending a jagged white splinter through skin in a bloody, gruesome display.
Li Pan quickly checked his pulse.
Still alive. And in the cyberpunk era, an injury like this was nothing—worst case, he'd get a replacement cyber-arm.
"So—who's next? Or do you all want to come at once?"
No one moved. After seeing a man's life nearly ended in three seconds, there was no will to fight. The trainees scrambled to leave, and the junior instructors weren't about to risk their limbs for a part-time paycheck.
But Li Pan wasn't done. Nothing beat a live punching bag for a good warm-up.
"Let's get you warmed up!"
He lunged, flying into a midair kick that smashed into a junior instructor's face, sending him sprawling out into the courtyard.
"Shoes! Take off my shoes, huh? I'll cut your damn legs off if you touch them!"
He waded in, shoes on, fists heavy, unleashing every street-fighting trick he knew—shin kicks, knee stomps, groin shots, ankle stomps, hammerfists, neck grabs, throat jabs, eye gouges, wrist locks—targeting joints, armpits, eyes, ears, nose, and throat.
In seconds, the group of trainees lay broken and writhing on the ground, their screams echoing.
That was when the mistress of the house finally emerged.
"You break into my home and strike with such cruelty—what grievance does the Akiyama family have with you?"
Akiyama Masako was the image of refined beauty—clearly from a highborn family, with flawless genetics and upbringing. Even with minimal makeup, she carried herself with elegance. She wore a pale blue kimono embroidered with white lilies, her long hair pinned up, her figure graceful yet strong. Li Pan thought he'd seen her in certain… films… of a similar aesthetic.
She still held a katana, hair and clothes untouched—clearly she'd been enjoying tea and flower arranging moments ago. But now, she'd come out to meet the intruder herself—every bit the steel magnolia.
Li Pan's gaze drifted to her kimono hem—her thighs were bound tightly by muscle and training, the fabric stretched over powerful curves. She was probably a professionally trained killer with cybernetic enhancements.
If she drew her blade, she might just take his head off in one stroke.
But Li Pan didn't flinch. He brushed back his hair, wiped sweat from his brow, and calmly projected a video recording.
"Mrs. Akiyama—someone with a very distinctive backside stole something from our company warehouse. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
Her pupils constricted—recognition, whether of the swordswoman in the footage or of her rear, he couldn't tell. Either way, she knew the dojo was in trouble.
Li Pan tossed her a card.
"The Oniwa Clan's impressive, huh? You really think you can steal from our company without us finding out?"
"I'll be polite first—three days. Return the goods, apologize, and our company will let it slide. Otherwise, we settle this the hard way."
He clapped the dust from his hands, got dressed, and walked away. Masako stood, gripping her sword, but didn't follow—once a corporation had traced something to your door, killing a few grunts wouldn't solve the problem.
What she didn't know was that the matter was already handled—Li Pan had dealt with the mess, the zombies, and the warehouse issue. The company didn't care about crushing ants like the Akiyama Dojo. But Li Pan smelled an opportunity.
Two thousand five hundred a month wasn't worth it—and sooner or later, some rookie would replace him. Time to use his position to line his pockets.
The Akiyamas clearly had money—land in the Old Capital, elite retainers, cybernetic assassins worth millions. They wouldn't dare defy TheM Corporation.
Perfect prey for a little shakedown. A few million would be nice. Instant "financial freedom."
Chuckling to himself, Li Pan wiped the blood from his shoes and took the subway home.
That night, he trained in Nine Yin Body Refinement again—not at Huang Dahe's place this time. His apartment was still drafty, but that was safer than risking losing control around Dahe's mother while her son was in the next room…
The fight at the dojo had taught him something—if he paired his street-fighting moves with the breathing techniques of Nine Yin Body Refinement, his strikes could multiply in power—sometimes dangerously so.
The problem was control. Sometimes he'd hit a floor and hurt his own hand; other times, he could smash stone or dent steel with a palm strike. The power was real—he just couldn't moderate it.
And when he entered meditation again, it came easier this time—slipping into that dreamlike state under the vast purple moon, channeling the cold and heat inside him until they fused into his body.
Two hours later, he woke refreshed, as if he'd slept eight hours, drenched in sweat and radiating heat like he'd just stepped out of a sauna.
"Citizen Li Pan—salary of 2,500 credited. Current loan repayment due: 3,379.38. Would you like to pay early?"
So it was the 15th again. Time to budget.
"No early payment. Please proceed with next-cycle loan selection. Current cash balance: 4,398.57. Next repayment: 8,291.43. Total debt: 300,XXX.XX."
Thirty days until the next repayment.
His debt was growing—but manageable. With cheap rent, minimal food costs, and some side hustles, he could keep it under control. And if the Akiyamas coughed up a lump sum, it'd be his first real step toward freedom.
Then came a message—from "Pastor."
"Mr. Li, sorry to bother you so late. Bad news. Our friend Big Bear had a live-in girlfriend, Lena, and a son, Andy. I helped them register their marriage and apply for workplace injury compensation. Lena wanted to move to Taiping District for a fresh start and a better school for Andy. I respected that choice and advanced her the benefits.
"But today, the payout didn't come through. My contact at the NCPA told me—they were caught in a battle between the Red Tengu and the Cerberus gang. Both killed.
"When the NCHC recovers the bodies, I'll hold a funeral. I'll let you know when—it'd be good if you could say goodbye."
Li Pan was silent for a moment, then put on his jacket and headed for the door. In the elevator, he ran into Orange—same as always, dark circles under her eyes, hair in a ponytail, wearing her NCHC jacket.
"Emergency shift?"
She gave a tired smile. "Yeah, another fight. Taiping District's leveled. No rest for us. You? Out this late?"
Li Pan paused. "…I had a friend living in Taiping. If it's on your way, could you take me with you?"
Orange blinked, sighed, and nodded.
.
.
.
⚠️ 30 CHAPTERS AHEAD — I'm Not a Cyberpsycho ⚠️
The system says: Kill.Mercs obey. Corporates obey. Monsters obey.One man didn't.
🧠💀 "I'm not a cyberpsycho. I just think... differently."
💥 High-voltage cyberpunk. Urban warfare. AI paranoia.Read 30 chapters ahead, only on Patreon.
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